Scars
by JamesLuver
Summary: John is interested in Anna's scars.


**A/N:** I can never say no to requests from Kate. It didn't turn out like I had initially planned, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

_Scars_

The musky smell of sleep was the first thing that hit Anna as she was slowly eased back to the waking world. She made a little sound of contentment in the back of her throat, snuggling closer to the warm weight beside her. Coarse hair tickled her cheek, and she blinked her eyes open at the foreign sensation.

She was met with the most wonderful sight before her: her husband, stark naked along the length of her. At once, the memories of the previous night came flooding back. Their first night in their own cottage. Their first night in a bed that was completely theirs.

They had certainly celebrated that fact.

Now, Anna was faced with her husband's hazel eyes. They peered down at her reverently. His hand, nestled around her back, stroked the jut of her hipbone. She shivered at the way that it sent tingles through her whole body.

"Good morning," he whispered.

"Good morning," she returned, voice scratchy. She cleared her throat as he chuckled. "How did you sleep?"

"Better than I expected to. Eventually." She felt that look right in the pit of her stomach. "What about you?"

"The best sleep I've ever had," she admitted. With no worries hanging over their heads for the first time since they had met, she had slept hard and deep, wrapped in his embrace. She stretched out, relishing the spark of his skin on hers. "Have you been awake long?"

"Only half an hour or so," he said. "And I was content enough to watch you sleep."

She wrinkled her nose, shifting so that she could see his face more easily. "I bet that was a sight."

"A beautiful sight," he said. "In fact, I noticed things about you that I'd never noticed before."

"Oh?" She struggled up. "Like what?"

John followed her. She was drawn unabashedly to his nakedness. The sheets were tangled somewhere around the foot of the bed. He cast her a boyish smile. She loved the way that his hair flopped over his forehead. It took years from him, gave him a lighter air that suited him completely. When he began speaking, she realised that she'd drifted away, and hurried to catch up once more.

"You've got a fair few scars of your own," he said.

Whatever she'd been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that. On their wedding night, she had been faced with his insecurities regarding his mangled knee, the faint marks that criss-crossed his torso. There had been no conceivable way that he could have hid them from her, but she hadn't wanted him to; they made him who he was. She had not been expecting that he could be so fascinated by the idea of her own blemishes when he was so ashamed by the ones that he wore. Perhaps they made him feel better. At least, she hoped they did. No one had a perfect body.

"Mr. Bates," she said playfully, "have you been staring at me?"

His smile was slow and sure, his voice husky; she caught a glimpse of the romantic soul trapped within his flesh and bone. "How could I not? You're enchanting."

She bit back a smile at his typical lavish praise. "So all that enchantment and you were fixated on my scars? I must be doing something wrong."

"No," he was quick to correct her. "It just made me realise that there's so much about you that I still don't know."

"We've got the rest of our lives now to learn," she said.

"Starting with these. You learnt all about mine on our wedding night. Now I want to learn about yours. Fair is fair."

"All right. Where do you want to start?"

He pressed a kiss to the patch of skin beside her eye. "Here? I've noticed it many times before, but I never believed I had the right to ask."

How typical. She shook her head. "You've a right to ask me whatever you want. You're my husband now. Anyway, that's a scar from childhood. I was playing with my oldest brother, Harry. He said I didn't dare climb the tree behind the farmhouse. I wanted to prove him wrong. So I climbed up but missed my footing. The tree overlooked a gravel path, and that's where I landed. Broke my arm and took the skin from the side of my face. I cried, but Harry was in hysterics because he should have been looking after me. I got a horrid scolding, but Harry got the whipping for encouraging me. He never did egg me on to do something silly ever again. Not that I didn't get myself into all sorts of trouble in other ways."

He chuckled. "You were quite the little hellion, then."

"I prefer adventurous. I had four brothers, all older. I was the baby of the family until Sam came along, and I finally got to exert some authority."

"A bossy little madam?" he teased.

She giggled, unable to stop her cheeks from pinking. "I did rather enjoy the fussing after spending so long being the baby to my older brothers."

"So that's one down," he said, kissing the side of her head more lingeringly. "What about these?"

He picked up her hand this time. How easily their fingers threaded together. She liked to be practical, but the girlish romantic that she had never quite left behind as she matured wondered if they had been crafted for this very purpose, two missing pieces finally melding together. Her hand looked impossibly small within his, his palm wide and meaty and his fingers long and delicate, but she knew he could never hurt her. Not again, not now they were free to love. As if to prove her point, he raised her hand to his lips, feathering kisses along her fingertips.

"What about these?" he repeated.

Oh yes. They'd been talking about her scars. She forced her fluttering eyes open.

"Those ones are easy. I got them from Lady Mary's curling iron. It's not the easiest instrument to work with. All it takes is a lapse in concentration."

"They look very painful."

"Not any more. I did have to start relying on my left hand when I initially got them, which wasn't fun, but they're part and parcel of being a lady's maid." She was getting distracted by the way that he pressed butterfly kisses against them.

Then, the barest swipe of his tongue.

Anna swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of a tightening low down. "Is there…is there anything else?"

"I noticed a couple more," he said. His voice was gritty now, a lion's low growl. Goosebumps prickled her skin. "Can you lie back down?"

She wanted to tease him, to draw out his exploration, but the words stuck in her throat and she found she didn't have the willpower to resist. It would keep for another time.

John's large bulk loomed over her. Drinking in the sight of him, she tilted her chin up. Thinner than she was used to, he was still a charismatic man. Confidence oozed from him. It surprised her, but made her more than glad; she had expected him to be shy and fumbling, perhaps even a little reluctant. But his seductive behaviour from their first time stepping inside the cottage had persisted. Prison seemed to have given him a fresh outlook on life. She would not complain about that.

"So, Mr. Bates," she purred, "what else have you noticed?"

He ran his hands down the outside of her body. Fresh heat pricked her skin.

"You've got a little mark on the inside of your left hip," he murmured. His fingers skimmed across it and she shuddered, wriggling a little beneath him.

"I've always had it. Mum told me I was born with it. Never did like it much."

"Why not?" His calloused thumbs continued to stroke in a teasingly slow line.

"Um…" Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she wriggled more emphatically. It tickled a little, but her blood was up too. The scratch of his stubble chafed her skin deliciously. It was getting more difficult to think.

"I think it's sweet," he said.

"Sweet? Has prison made you soft in the head?"

His laughter reverberated through her, and she squirmed. He lowered his mouth to her. Her breath caught as his lips travelled across the area. Gripping the bed sheets in clawed fingers, she lifted her hips just slightly. His hands slipped smoothly over her bare buttocks, drawing her closer. Harsh, unsteady breaths left her mouth as her muscles tightened in anticipation of what was to come next. The warm heat of his tongue, and –

And he pulled away again.

She couldn't prevent the discontented whine escaping her throat.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"You've got another scar. A tiny one, on the top of your foot. Care to tell me about that one?"

"No," she panted. "I don't care about a bleedin' scar on my foot."

"_I _certainly care."

Her hand found the thick locks of his hair, pushing the back of his head insistently. She didn't know what she was wishing for, but she certainly didn't want him to stop. "Carry on with what you were doing and I'll tell you the answer."

"Bargaining. I like it."

His nose nudged the inside of her thigh. Then his lips. A cry tore itself free from her throat.

For a time, she forgot all about scars and stories of the past.

* * *

Afterwards, they lay together in a heap. Legs tangled and listening to his strong heartbeat beneath her ear, Anna had never felt so blissfully happy. This was truly what their life could be now. Domestic bliss.

At length, John shifted, his lips brushing her hairline.

"How about that story now?"

She laughed. "Give me time to recover, Mr. Bates." Her thighs were still trembling.

"I didn't realise I was so good."

She slapped his chest good-naturedly.

Silence reigned for a little longer. Anna concentrated on her surroundings; the masculine smell, the solid bulk of him, the contrast of rough hair and smooth skin.

"You know," John commented, "I don't mind staying in bed this way."

Anna giggled, knowing that he was alluding to his lordship's words from earlier. "We'll need to get up at some point. There's a lot to put right and we've only a few days to do it in."

Lord Grantham and Lady Mary had been kind enough to grant them a little time to make their house a home – to make up for the time they had spent apart since his release. Anna was looking forward to the mundane tasks. It cemented all this as truly real.

Of course, there were many perks to living alone.

As if reading her mind, John shifted, rising up on his forearm. Anna rolled from him with the greatest reluctance, taking him in. She was very glad for the absence of their sheets.

"The story behind the scar?" he prompted.

"It's nothing too exciting. Another from childhood, I think. Working on the farm had its perils. To be honest, I can't really remember, it was so long ago now." His close proximity wasn't helping matters, either. Her head swam.

"I feel cheated."

"Perhaps you shouldn't bargain if you don't know what you're working with, Mr. Bates."

"I suppose you're right, as usual."

"And don't you forget it."

Rolling away from her, he commented as he sat up, "Your scars really are beautiful, you know."

"It's a pity you can't say the same for yourself."

"These ugly things?" he snorted. "They're hardly attractive."

"I disagree." She pushed herself up too. "Everyone has scars, John. There is no shame in how you received yours. I've told you before, I don't look at them and feel disgust. I see the same things you do. And I quite fancy hearing the individual story behind each one too."

"What did I do to deserve you?" he marvelled. "You are far too kind."

"You say that now," she teased. "But I've heard in good faith that I can be rather naughty."

His eyes darkened at that. "I look forward to testing that out, Mrs. Bates."

"But anyway," she continued, "I want to learn about yours."

"All in good time," he told her. In the next moment she was squealing aloud, her back hitting the soft mattress once more. John was over her in a second, his dark eyes flashing.

Panting, she said, "You've already studied my scars in some detail."

"Who says it's another study of scars?" he growled, moving his lips to the spot just beneath her ear that made her squirm. "This time the study is going to be much more extensive. I can promise you that."

He certainly did live up to his promises.


End file.
